Brotherhood and Lovers
by Efrain Hernandez
Summary: Post-X-Men: First Class. Magneto continues his personal vendetta to kill the Nazis responsible for his parent's death and  Mystique's secret love for a fellow red mutant is threatened by an ancient evil on the verge of destroying the world. READ! REVIEW!


The following story exists within the film universe, taking place immediately after "X-Men: First Class." Although characters and stories have been taken from the comics it should be assumed that all connections must exist among the Marvel films only. This is more X-Men oriented than a crossover hinted throughout the story. Please take your time to read the story as I hope it will be worth your time. I'll end with a final request: please review! If you would like to read more chapter then I need criticism and reviews to base future chapters off of. Thanks and enjoy!

**BROTHERHOOD AND LOVERS**

Written by Efrain Hernandez

All Saints Day, 1962

The Rhine Valley, Germany

Lightning rolled within the swirling black clouds that hovered overhead and illuminated the rocky terrain of Rhine Valley. The towns crowding around the river that broke through the valley were still vibrant with life, even at midnight, as windows dotted the dark silhouette at the foot of the mountains with a mixture of candlelight and electricity. Ports that lined the water traded with the trafficking boats and sent them along their way. The ships that traveled down the river bobbed up and down like fireflies as the river and the valley almost merged into one black background. Even on one of their holiest nights local Germans fought hard to keep their city thriving. It was an important stop for tourist and goods on one of Europe's most important rivers.

An Aston Martin DB4, a luxury sports car not uncommon around the valley, zipped down the thin roads that curved down alongside the mountain. The driver, a stout middle aged man, looked up at the blackness of the night and observed the clouds with each passing lightning flash. His windshield reflected bluish cracks in the sky and in a second they vanished and were again replaced with another bolt of lightning. This continued throughout his drive down towards the port. Storms like these the driver could handle but the eerie silence unnerved him.

However the car did not make it entirely into the port. Instead of traveling down the main route the driver veered off onto a dangerously rocky path that was hinted by the sound of rock on metal in the underbelly of his car. The driver winced but pushed his foot deeper on the accelerator. A blur of lightning and rock whipped passed him and with it went his hope of finding his destination. He was now surrounded by towering trees as he dug further into the mountain's base. Convinced that the river was minutes away the driver relaxed his foot and pulled over and stopped his car. He stepped out of his seat and braced himself for a harsh wind that rattled the leaves and dirt from the ground. His fitted suit already had a coating of dust that glowed like a halo from the car's headlights. He looked behind him, up the mountain's side where Wagner Castle rested with several shining windows glistened in the darkness of the night, towards the town which was nearly completely hidden by the forest he had driven himself into, and the dark abyss that lay before him. The driver cursed in his Germanic language. He was lost.

The driver stepped back into his Aston Martin and began unfolding a map onto his lap. The routes and villages he knew very well, having spent his childhood traveling the mountains of Germany with his family, but he was unlucky to have unconquered this particular stretch of forest. The driver turned the map in many different directions but immediately stopped when he saw a ghost through the folds of the map. He lowered it and watched as the ghost emerged into the car's headlights. The ghost wore a long duster and a cowboy hat with a double barrel shotgun firmly gripped in his hands. A lantern sat next to him glowing dimly on the ground. The driver stepped back outside but remained behind the car door.

"Americans," the driver pointed, "do not dress like that anymore. You are far from your home."

The ghost continued to step forward, revealing his face in the headlight. He had an aged but powerfully looking facial structure. A stubby chin complete with a handlebar mustache.

"You're in no better shape yourself," the ghost answered back with low rumble and rich western accent.

The driver shuffled backwards as the ghost finally arrived in front of the car door. He lowered his weapon and offered a handshake.

"Count Eric Wagner?" the ghost asked. "I'm the Caretaker."

The driver affirmed his name with a silent nod and shook his hand. The Caretaker noticed a gold ringer on his finger with a Nazi Swastika molded onto it.

"How do you know that name?" the count asked suspiciously.

The ghost shrugged, turned around and began walking towards the dark abyss.

"Baron, Count…you want me to be formal? I know all of your aliases…Christian, Eric…it makes no difference to me. I'll still know who you are."

The Count locked his prized car before scurrying after the Caretaker. The Caretaker stopped to pick up the lantern and together they marched shoulder to shoulder into the forest.

"Where are we going? I don't know this place," the Count asked.

"To see a friend of mine- you got the paper by the way?"

The Count nodded and patted his breast pocket.

"So you are the man whom I've been talking to all along? I knew you were an American but I would have never imagined you being so…"

"American?" The Caretaker raised an eyebrow.

"Why the interest in the relic? Why do you put so much effort into having it?"

"There's a scripture on the paper that's of great importance to me."

The Count was stunned. "You can read it?"

"I can't but she can." The Caretaker pointed at a small shack ahead of him.

Through the thicket of trees there was the house of a local Gypsy. Those who traveled frequently through the valley knew of her as "The Gypsy" but locals whose families had lived there for years knew her as a sorceress instead, one who was advised to all to avoid contact with.

The Count stopped walking. "I thought this was going to be a simple transaction: The creature "Zarathos" for the scripture. No detours!"

The Caretaker raised his weapon at the Count who immediately began walking again. The Caretaker was the first to enter the shack which smelled of a mixture of herbal stenches. The entire place looked as if it was designed by a witch doctor posing as an interior decorator. Lanterns were hung above their heads which casted a reddish glow on the floor.

"Count, this is Margali Szardos," the Caretaker introduced as he waved towards a woman dressed in white robes.

The Count laid eyes on her and melted by her beautiful appearance. He saw an angel that bathed the shack with a sweet sensation of warmth. Szardos wore a headdress that resembled a ram's horn. Her crystal looking eyes locked with the Caretaker's. She then looked at the Count and frowned.

"This is the one who possesses the relic?" She hissed.

The Caretaker nodded. "Let her see it, Count."

The Count obliged, more so because of Szardos, and handed him a leather package. The Caretaker unwrapped the package and carefully pulled out an ancient looking piece of torn parchment. On it were mysterious and unidentifiable writings. Szardos let out a deep sigh as she was handed the paper. It fluttered in the air as if it weighed nothing. Szardos let is gently float onto her hand and sat down on a small unstable table.

"The creature please," The Count insisted as he opened his hand.

"Not until she verifies the relic," growled The Caretaker.

Szardos closed her eyes and grazed her fingers above the writing on the paper. The Caretaker waited patiently but the Count became restless. It was too long of a transaction for him to handle. He had been eagerly anticipating trading in the useless artifact for something much more valuable and meaningful to him. The relic was given to him by a fellow grave robber on an expedition in Egypt. Unable to find any history or interpretation of the paper he grew tired of its importance, which was never fully explained by the grave robber who vanished soon after, and listed it on the black market within weeks. In a matter of days he received a mysterious invitation for a trade by an American named "The Caretaker."

"This relic," Szardos began, "is valid."

The Caretaker's mustache twitched at Szardos which hinted at a smile. Szardos handed the paper back to The Caretaker who then tucked it back into the leather package.

The Count beamed. "Wunderbar! Now let's complete the transaction!"

The Caretaker immediately pointed his weapon at the Count's pudginess. He steadied his finger over the trigger.

"Der dreckskerl! What is this outrage," the Count bellowed as he tightened his fist.

Szardos stood up and watched the Count tremble.

"Deal's changed, Count," said the Caretaker.

"I can see your heart Count," Szardos hissed, "the creature Zarathos cannot go with you."

The Count ignored the woman he once saw as supremely beautiful. "We had a deal Caretaker! Show me the creature!"

"You want it? I'll show you the creature!" The Caretaker shouted as he pulled away the shotgun from the Count's torso.

"No Caretaker! Don't!" The cries of Szardos were unheard however and The Caretaker became stiff.

The Count watched in awe as a yellow light brightened the shack and heat as hot as hell nearly seared his face. He stepped backwards and cowered away. Through his fingers that covered his face, the reflections of a raging fire exploded out of nowhere. Where there used to be a human face was now fire.

"Der Teufel! The devil!" The Count whimpered.

"Oh, you wouldn't want to see him Count," the Caretaker growled. His skull was exposed, void of any flesh or organs, which was aggressively coated by hellfire.

"Give me that ring!" ordered the Caretaker.

The Count obliged him and immediately threw his gold ring at the monster in front of him.

"If it was up to me I'd send all of you Nazi scumbags straight to hell…" the Caretaker placed the ring on top of his bony palm and used the heat from his hellfire to melt the ring, "but I'm not a murderer. I'm a demon hunter."

Szardos placed her hand on the Caretaker's shoulder. "This is Zarathos. It lives within the Caretaker as one and together they are known as-"

"-Ghost Rider," the Caretaker finished for her.

"A demon hunter," said Szardos.

"And what does this all have to do with me? Is it because of that relic? Is it cursed?" The Count kept his distance.

Szardos answered, "That scripture is a description of a very powerful enemy that walks amongst us. Its power equals that of many of the greatest demons alive today and Ghost Rider needs to find it before it unleashes hell on earth unforeseeable by even myself. This demon is immortal, alive since before the biblical age and the worst of it all is that it doesn't even remember who it is. When it does…"

"It'll kill every mortal thing on this planet." The Caretaker's hellish voice sent ripples down the Count's spine. "I've gotta find it before it know what it can do."

"I didn't know…" the Count whimpered.

"You Nazi creeps never know, do you," the Caretaker snapped. "By the way, I heard your numbers were growing thin. The last one died at the hands of a mutant. I think he'd like to say few words with you. Szardos?"

Szardos gave the Caretaker an uneasy look. With a few incantations and gestures, Szardos ignited a bright green light from her hands that shot through the wooden floorboards. The Caretaker stuck his hand into the cracked floorboards that had smoke and hellfire erupting from it. Through the pounding of his heart the Count heard the distant screams of those unfortunate enough to make it into hell. The Caretaker finally pulled his arm out of the floor along with a man that was scarred and burned. His body was bound by chains made up of hot coals. The Caretaker had him by the scruff of his neck.

All color had left the Count's face.

"Sebastian?" The Count was baffled.

"Hello Eric," replied a dead Sebastian Shaw. He had a skinny hole in the center of his forehead.

"Sebastian…but how?"

"It's complicated. I see the world's intact. Nice work there Eric."

"I tried to obtain the creature but-"

"No need to explain. You'd never be able to get Zarathos. Not without killing him." Sebastian looked at the Caretaker who immediately shoved him back into the floor.

"Alright that's enough, Shaw. Give Mephisto a kiss for me will you?"

The Caretaker pointed at the Count. "Explain. What do you need Zarathos for?"

The Count shook his head, unsure of whether to cooperate or run.

"The creature has a history," he began, "I wanted to join the Hellfire Club but Shaw requested that I design a plan to eliminate the human race in case the third world war had failed to start. That would prove my allegiance."

He looked at the Caretaker. "When did you take possession of that thing?"

"After the second world war."

"It was ours before we lost it to the demon lord Mephisto. The Nazi Regime had it. It is said that the creature grows stronger for every soul he devours and through a secret initiative we were able to supply the souls it needed. More than six million of them. We would've been unstoppable."

The Caretaker's hellfire had ignited as bright as an atomic blast. The Count was thrown through the wooden walls of the shack into the open forest. The Caretaker s stormed out to follow but a touch on the shoulder had prevented him. The Count landed against a pile of leaves and rocks.

"He failed in his plan as he would have never gotten hold of you," Szardos said calmly. "We have what we want."

The Caretaker pointed at the Count with hellfire erupting from his hand. "When the time is right, I'll be seeing you personally."

Groaning as he stood back on his feet the Count wasted no time in returning back to his car and driving away. The Count cursed and brought his fist down on the dashboard repeatedly until his knuckles became bloody. The lightning continued to strike against the mountain as he headed towards Wagner castle. While his eyes were kept on the windy road his mind still remained in the shack. He thought of the creature Zarathos that was nearly in his grasp, handing over the relic of which he had no ideas held such powerful information, meeting Shaw's outcome and confronting the Ghost Rider. It overwhelmed him and somewhere in the back of his mind he nearly saw the hooded figure that crossed the dirt path in front of him. Joined with a single lightning strike the Aston Martin DB4 collided with the figure.

Back in the shack the Caretaker observed the scripture as Szardos unwrapped it and pointed to a single symbol. The Caretaker had returned to his human form and waited.

"Now let us reveal the name of our new foe." Szardos hissed. Her eyes suddenly became wide before giving the Caretaker a mournful look. She had a vision of the future.

"I have seen the outcome and it is both tragic and wondrous."

"The name, Szardos!" The Caretaker was becoming impatient. Too much time was already lost.

Szardos took a deep breath. "The demon's name is Azazel."

TO BE CONTINUED…

Thanks for reading! Please review and let me know what you think!


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